


A (K)night to remember

by just_liv



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-it: s08e04 The Last of the Starks, Extended Scene, F/M, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Graphic Description, Knight Brienne of Tarth, POV Jaime Lannister, Season 8, extra scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-26 02:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_liv/pseuds/just_liv
Summary: Jaime may not know what the future holds for them but he can’t deny his heart wishes.He never could.





	1. Blame it on the Dornish wine

**Author's Note:**

> So. I've written this story right after the show ended and don't really know how to explain it. Did we need an extended version of their first night together? Probably not.  
Did I write 7K words on this ship I've never written before? You bet I did.  
All mistakes are mine. The characters are not (otherwise they wouldn't have suffered that wretched ending - yes Jaime I'm looking at you.)

I. 

Jaime is drunk.

He could blame the Dornish wine and its sweetness or the bliss of a battle fought and won. Gods know he can sense the adrenaline pumping and thrumming through his body still and every time he closes his eyes he can feel rather than see Brienne dancing amidst smoke, fire and the cold cold night, moving like a shadow, matching each of his steps with perfect rhythm, lethal and majestic in what he truly believed was going to be his last memory from this life.

So he drinks, large gulps of this sweet Dornish wine as, against all odds, they both get to live another day and sit across each other after burning their dead and vanquishing yet another enemy (and if Jaime doesn’t dwell on what other enemies stand, still it’s not without effort and intent from his part).

In a room full of equally stunned survivors they eat and celebrate, and Tyrion is there as well, his little brother with that familiar impish smile, and a shadow behind his eyes that only Jaime seems to notice for now. Together they laugh and jest, something born in relief and incredulity. And across the table, so does Ser Brienne of Tarth, evidence of hard up-close combat still very much present on her features and doing nothing to improve her homely face or to tarnish the resplendence of her sapphire-blue eyes glimmering over candlelight and what seems to be mirth – as well as the Dornish wine, Jaime’s sure.

He doesn’t quite remember who started the game – likely Tyrion or himself – but much to his surprise and satisfaction, she joins them on it, as does her young squire, and soon enough many cups have been downed and each round seem to unravel different layers of the woman standing in from of him just then.

Drinking yet another cup, her eyes sparkle, and Jaime can’t help but smile in return, his hand – the one and only – touching hers with no concern for platitudes or excuses – simply because he can. Because even though they faced death and an army of dead, they still managed to live another day and to stand, here and now, within each other’s grasp. Free to feel the warmth of her large mannish hands and know this is but a dream. And if Tyrion and the squire – Pod – notice it, Jaime is almost sure she doesn’t, maybe the gesture itself casual enough to be easily dismissed, albeit his insistence could say otherwise were she to have any idea of the joy vibrant in her own eyes and its soothing effects on his very soul.

Feeling Pod’s scrutiny once again on him, Jaime retreats his hand, masking the rush of blood he can feel prickling up his neck and face with another generous gulp of wine that leaves his cup empty and does little to quench his thirst. 

Then Brienne glances at Jaime, catching his eyes with her own, soft and no glimpse of the surly undertone he’s grown used to finding there or the darkness he feels creeping in his own more and more each day and there’s this sharp nip of want twisting his insides in a way that’s familiar and yet completely foreign;

Jaime finds himself unable to hold her gaze, not for long at least. So he focuses his attention at his brother, training his eyes to remain there, trying and failing at ignoring this pull he feels deep within.

But then Tyrion’s next words fall between them, a statement, not a question – he refutes as the smile abandons the corner of his lips, registering the hurt in Brienne’s face just before it quickly disappears behind well-worn walls she immediately draws up once again.

Looking at her once again, and finding himself unable to look away – now for different reasons altogether, Jaime can’t ignore the sour feel of loss that settles at his stomach when he finds her serious and seemly unreachable once again.

Not one second later she stands, ready to bolt, and Jaime’s first instinct isn’t to stop her, his reflexes dulled by all the drinking and just what would he say so? Craven, he hears a voice familiar and hateful echoing in his mind, and goes yet for another drink of his wine, wishing to drown it at once, forgetting his cup remains empty.

Before he has a chance to pour some more or make up his mind, then comes the _Giantsbane_ of Brienne’s existence, her declared admirer, eyes bright with that persistent expression of awe and undisguised want he wears around her and Brienne doesn’t acknowledge the man but doesn’t quite dismiss him either; Sober at once she announces her departure and sure enough the brute man is ready to follow her with nothing but his unwavering attention and before Jaime can think of it, he’s up on his feet, a wall between the wildling and the object of his pursuit. And with a not so gentle pat on his shoulder, Jaime makes sure to let him know that that particular seat has been taken, before trailing after Brienne himself.

.::.

As she leaves the room Brienne glances back and Jaime’s sure she’s seen him trailing after her for her strides are long and willful. Then, just as they find themselves unaccompanied at the main hall she turns around at once, her strong jaw tense and her thick lips vanishing into a thin line that barely contains her aggravation.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Jaime stops at his tracks, not quite sure of what would be the right answer. The sweet Dornish wine doing nothing to improve his wits.

“I, huh, I mean to apologize, on behalf of my brother.” He stutters and staring at him Brienne’s expression gives away her surprise, even if only for a glimpse of a moment. It’s enough, however, so he can notice the slightest softening in her stance. It’s probably what makes him add, “Let me assure you, he meant no disrespect.”

She looks away, those impressive blue eyes, revealing much more than she intends to, he’s sure.

“And what do you care? It's not like you haven’t said and done worse.” Her words are spoken with no anger, only a clear statement of facts.

“And so I have,” Jaime admits downcast, unable to subdue the queasiness that those hard truths provoke. There are few things Jaime Lannister regrets in his life but causing harm to the woman standing in front of him just now, the one who time and time again has proven herself to be a better knight he ever dreamed of being, it’s definitely one of them.

Unaccustomed to dwell on such thoughts, Jaime can’t help but frown at their effects, what seems enough to appease the maid’s chagrin.

“You shall not waste your concern on me, Jaime. Just as one may suspect I’m not made of glass and it takes a whole lot more than that to get under my skin.

When Jaime dares to look up is to find those damn eyes keen on him, and her statuesque figure looking tall and unyielding. And yet, something about her, about her words sound opaque. Almost as if they’ve been repeated time and time again, willing them to be true and losing completely their meaning on the way.

But before Jaime has a chance to say else on the matter, Brienne cuts him short, “I’m afraid it's been a taxing day and all that wine’s made matters worse. I shall retire to my quarters. But you should find your way back to the celebration, enjoy your brother’s company. I’ll see you in the morrow.”

And then, without waiting for as much as a response, Brienne leaves, her words final as she walks down the long ill-lit corridors only to disappear in the shadows.

In the meanwhile, Jaime simply stands there, unable to look away, but also finding impossible to take her up on her suggestion. Her words, or perhaps the resignation on her voice causing a strange feeling he can’t quite bear with.

See you in the morrow, she’s said, and all Jaime can think of is how close they’ve been to never having one of those again, and then he’s back in the battlefield, swinging his sword with his one hand, feeling the heat of her presence every time their backs touch as they move in a single accord, with the easiness of old partners used to this particular dance.

See you in the morrow, she's said and walked away, as if today is not a miracle in itself, as if tomorrow is a wish granted. 

See you in the morrow, she's said and who knows what waits for them then? Duty? More battles to fight? Paths that may not intertwine ever again?

Jaime doesn't know. Unlike the Stark boy, he has no link to crows or any magic beings assuring anything about anything.

And as best as he knows, he's lived a battle too many.

The one thing he knows for sure is that he's not ready to bid farewell to his wench just yet.

So he won't. Not just yet. Not tonight. 

.::.

TBC...


	2. Knock-knock-knockin' on your lady knight's door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However lacking the world may judge her when it comes to beauty and muliebrity, Jaime knows for certain that it holds no weight on his longing for her, just as he knows, he must not wait a moment longer before he acts on it.
> 
> or
> 
> Buckle up Jaime boy!

II. 

The sound of footsteps rouses Jaime from his reverie and sure enough, soon comes along a young girl making her way back to the great hall where the feast is loudly taking place, carrying a heavy tray with a jugful of wine and more cups. She smiles shyly as Jaime’s eyes meet hers and he thinks nothing of it other than he can’t withstand the idea of waiting until the morrow to see the wench’s face again. And that, whatever he’s decided to do – details still unclear – he’ll need more of that wine in his bloodstream to get him through.

The girl has barely passed him when he startles her with what’s supposed to be a polite request but ends up sounding much like a brisk demand.

“I’ll be taking those,” Jaime announces, not quite waiting for her response, as he grasps two cups, adjusting them under his maimed arm and taking the jug by its handle with his single hand.

All the way to Brienne’s quarters, Jaime finds himself trying to think of the right thing to say. And why is it so easy for that fucking wildling to come out and declare he wants her when he doesn’t even know her? When he hasn’t spent days and nights, fates and body tied to each other, not knowing what the future holds. When he hasn’t seen her face that beast of a bear with nothing but that hideous rag of pink monstrosity and a wooden sword.

How can that buffoon, even begin to comprehend what wanting her really feels like when he has never been at the end of being watched by those unfathomable iridescent blue eyes looking at him with so much faith and trust while the rest of the world has weighed and found him wanting?

Finding his throat suddenly too dry as his feet seem to have found their way to, what he hopes, really is her room, Jaime stares at the heavy door long enough that the cold chill of the North brisling on by the empty halls starts settling on his bones. 

Jaime’s not sure of what he expects should happen once that door is opened and he finds that it may and it may not be a coincidence that last time he felt this way, he happened to be charging against a dragon with nothing but a spear and sheer stupidity. True enough, if the wench decides his advances are untoward, there’s a big enough chance she might show herself to be just as deadly.

Alas, much like he’s done before, Jaime forsakes such thoughts and simply gets on with it, knocking almost lightly against the door as if not to startle her more than necessary.

With a slight shiver that he’s sure has little to do with the cold night of winter, Jaime doesn’t have to wait for long as she opens the door looking almost soft under the firelight and he doesn’t wait for an invitation or for her to say anything at all, the words falling from his lips starkly and demanding and nothing at all like what he had first intended.

“You didn’t drink,” He stresses, and his eyes can’t hold hers for long, afraid of what he may find were he to inspect them closely under such tender lights and short proximity.

Looking down he gets past her into the room, heading straight to the closest surface he manages to find, a small table where he gingerly places the jug of fine wine and the cups he has under his grip.

“I didn’t drink.” She repeats dumbfounded.

“In the game,” He elaborates as she closes the door, finding her way to where he now stands.

“I drank,” She frowns, her refute not quite strong, probably because much of her mind is otherwise preoccupied, trying to understand where this is coming from.

By the look on her face, it’s a puzzle she can’t quite put together.

To be honest, neither can he.

“In the game,” He insists, and holds the jug as if to explain what he can’t, “this is Dornish.” He hears himself say and it’s pleased to have something to make himself busy with even if it’s an inane action such as pouring two cups making sure he doesn’t spill the wine all over. Most of it goes where it’s supposed to, so he takes that as a win.

“This is not a game.” Brienne declares much – much – closer now. “This is only drinking.”

Jaime forgets how silent she can be. How she is surprisingly gracious despite her substantial gait. He looks at her then, drawn to her stern expression, one that he finds equally familiar and comforting by now.

“Suit yourself.” He retorts pushing a cup into her hands and she looks at the wine and then at him as if he may have been offering her poison. But then, not a second later, she drinks it.

And the reason for that, Jaime thinks to himself, eyes following the slight of her movements, is because she does trust him.

Surely, he knows this by now, after fighting side by side, but even before that, if he’s being honest. Maybe he’s known it since the first and only time she’s held him in her strong arms as he was about to drown in his bathwater and self-pity.

Yet, it never ceases to amaze him – the thought alone close to intoxicating.

So, he watches her drink, a gulp that’s neither small or big, and he must make himself look away again, that sharp nip of want he had felt earlier coming back at once, deeper and stronger, and much harder to ignore.

He blames the fire.

“You keep warm enough in here,” and proceeds to take his coat off.

“It was the first thing I learned when I came to the North.” She comments as he struggles to get his damn coat off one-handed and finding that something about the timbre of her voice does little to appease the heat that is making it hard for him to breath.

Brienne, seemly unaware, just keeps talking. “Every time you leave the room, put more wood on.”

“That’s very diligent. Very responsible.” He muses, his tone mocking, but with no bite to it.

His lady knight – as to be expected – doesn’t care for it.

“Piss off.”

He probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as he does, but it matters not. Few things fill him with joy these days, and getting a rise of Brienne is definitely one of them.

“You know the first thing I learned in the North?” He finds himself moving closer until he’s standing in front of her, a shitty smirk on his face as he declares, “I hate the fucking North.”

She’s looking straight into his eyes when she argues. “It grows on you.”

Her remark, enough to make him wonder – even if for the briefest time – if the innocent and valiant maid he’s come to know has grown into something else.

Perhaps someone able to speak in riddles and quips.

He wonders if he has been a bad influence or if this has to do with her time in the North and then his amusement turns sour, as Jaime contemplates just what else might have grown on her as she’s been at it.

He feels a twitch that twists his smile into something sharp. “I don’t want things growing on me.”

And he probably should stop there. Talk about something else, anything else, but the thought has once again mudded his mind and Jaime has never been known for doing what he should. Instead, he finds himself saying, “How about Tormund Giantsbane? Has he grown on you?

He looks at her expectant, and not for the first time, her blank stare lights a fire within him. He presses further, against better judgment (something he also lacks by spades). “He was very sad when you left.”

But then, never looking away, as if – not for the first time – she sees more of his true self than anyone ever could – Brienne speaks, her voice cracking and escaping in a low register that's close to a whisper.

“You sound quite jealous.”

It takes Jaime by surprise that she dares say it to his face, almost as much as for it sounding less like an accusation and more like a fact.

As his words sink in, Jaime frowns, conceding, “I do, don’t I?

He searches for an answer, mayhap a sign, but her big blue eyes simply blink back at him, mesmerizing under such scrutiny and yet remarkably unfazed.

That’s when he feels it again, the hungry razor-sharp craving that seems to be growing within him, burning hot from inside out. The strength of it threatening to overcome him every second he spends staring into the abyss of those eyes.

Jaime looks away, but his mouth – much like other parts of his body – seems to have a mind of its own.

“It’s bloody hot in here,” his hand, no longer grasping the cup, busies itself with the collar of his shirt.

It’s a bawdy move – with none of the courteous reverence his lady knight deserves, this much he knows – but also one even her, guileless as she can be, can’t fail to understand.

He struggles with his shirt and doesn’t need to look at Brienne to know she too must be feeling the restless energy surrounding the two of them. And when he can’t untie the damn thing and resorts to using his mouth, it is but a matter of seconds before he hears the hustling sound of her coming to his rescue as well as the impatient tone in her voice.

“Oh, move aside.” She commands pushing him away and taking matters into her own capable hands. And then Jaime no longer attempts to look at anywhere else, his gaze longing and appraising her up close for all that she is, this mountain of a woman with surprising nimble fingers that holds herself tall and proud and so very seriously. He feels the warmth of her presence, of her mannish hands, the heat of her eyes and chooses to focus on the familiar frown on her forehead as she throws herself at the task in hand.

However lacking the world may judge her when it comes to beauty and muliebrity, Jaime knows for certain that it holds no weight on his longing for her, just as he knows, he must not wait a moment longer before he acts on it.

As such, once again his one hand attempts to make itself useful as it reaches for her collar and he can feel her warm breath catching when his fingers brush against bare skin as well as the traces of Dornish wine, closer than before, as she asks.

“What are you doing?” Her hands freeze on spot whereas his keeps moving, albeit more slowly, afraid a brusque movement might spook her, much like a lion’s would its prey.

“Taking your shirt off.” He informs her and when she moves his hand aside, Jaime is the one holding his breath, knowing this is it.

This is the moment he’s been yearning and dreading. The point of no return.

Jaime looks at her and he can see her fears, her doubts, the scars that go beyond the ones she carries on her skin. But on those astounding sapphire-blue eyes he also finds the glimmer of a flame, something buried deep as not to be seen or found, something he only manages to witness by standing so very near her, as he does right now.

It’s almost enough to make him take a step back, the beauty of it intoxicating and overwhelming, but then her hands leave his collar to find her own as she begins to unfasten her own shirt and Jaime could not look away if he tried, enthralled by everything she does, by all that she is.

Unsure of what little control he may have over his actions once instinct takes over, Jaime dares not touch her just then, knowing she’ll reach for him when it’s time. And reach she does, helping him to take his shirt off at last;

With his chest naked and exposed, Jaime looks up expectantly, his heart thundering in his chest and he feels the rush of blood moving quickly inside his old battered body, as if he were nothing but a summer boy, as Brienne finally removes her shirt, baring her body and her soul for him.

“I’ve never slept with a knight before.” He says, green eyes wide in awe, never leaving hers, hoping she may see in them all that Jaime can’t seem to put in words.

“I’ve never slept with anyone before.” She confesses, never looking away, confirming what Jaime has long suspected – that whatever this is, it goes beyond lust and carnal desires. That what she has chosen to give him is far greater than her maidenhead or a night between two knights who have fought together and now seek for a thrill of living in a place that still reeks of death and desolation.

In this warm room, Ser Brienne of Tarth, the woman who has saved him countless times, the knight who was made by him, the most honorable and good person he knows in this godsforsaken world has deemed him, the Kingslayer, worthy of her.

He knows there’s nothing he has done to deserve such gift.

A more honorable man, one she deserved, would have said so.

For once Jaime’s glad he never claimed to be one.

The words that come out of his mouth are nonsensical, barely an afterthought, “Then you have to drink. Those are the rules.”

“I told you—” She starts ever so softly, but then Jaime is well and done with all the talking.

To say that he kisses her first would be an understatement.

Her words are still halfway out when he takes the leap – landing his mouth on hers, swallowing whole whatever words she means to say. His hand immediately reaches for her short hair, using its grip as leverage to pull her closer, and he feasts on her plump lips as if never again he will have the need for air.

To his relief and rejoice, she doesn’t fight him, doesn’t even hesitate. Closing her eyes, Brienne leans onto him and when her naked torso meets his own, her skin soft and pleasantly warm and her small tits hard and sensitive to his touch, Jaime feels the scalding heat of a million suns overflowing all his senses as he takes and takes and takes, ready to consume all there is to her.

Under his touch, Brienne gasps, and when his hand begins to explore the unmapped territory of her body, pouring kisses over her exposed skin, keen in covering all the extent of it, her gasps turn into moans, being silenced only when his mouth tends to hers once again.

.::.

TBC...


	3. When I'm with you it's like everything glows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then the did is done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda nervous cause it's been forever since I've written anything like it, and well... All the mistakes are mine and please feel free to comment!

III.

He keeps his eyes open.

Every step of the way, Jaime keeps his eyes open, willing her to understand that he wants exactly what he sees, all of her, for as long as she’ll have him.

But he also keeps his eyes open for his own selfish reasons. Because he wants to make sure he’ll remember every detail of her – and of this moment – long after life and duty take them onto separate ways. Knowing someone like him will never get to keep someone like her.

“Please,” he hears her say, in a tone so low he only manages to comprehend it because the words are whispered against his lips.

“What,” he means to ask had his mouth not been occupied trailing wet kisses down her long neck, getting lost between the miles and miles of pale fair skin blemished by a myriad of freckles and the occasional scars imposed by a life of battles.

Some of the scars are familiar. Most of them are not.

His hand alone seems insufficient to explore all there is to her, but his clever mouth and tongue are more than willing to make up for it. In fact, it seems all of his body wants nothing but to find the nearness of her, and that’s probably how they end up pressed against the closest wall, his fingers once again blissfully buried in her hair, his mouth enveloping a swollen pink nipple, her mile-long leg wrapped around his waist, compelling him to keep his stance with a strong hold.

“Jaime,” she calls his name, breathless, and Jaime feels the headiness of his own desire straining against his pants, and more so when her hands descend, landing on his hips, pulling his body impossibly closer and all he can feel is the heat emanating through her center as he rubs himself against her core. “Please.”

He bites – not so hard, but not as gentle as he had intended, and Brienne yelps sounding nothing like the warrior he’s seen on a battlefield not two nights ago; then she’s chanting his name, a prayer, a promise, and Jaime knows he won’t be able to last long, not at this pace.

He takes her lips once more, a kiss that’s meant to be sweet, an invitation to a small reprieve so they may gather their bearings, but as Jaime opens his mouth to let the words out, Brienne deepens the kiss, wet and hot, and he doesn’t think he will ever be able to deny her, knowing Brienne kisses as she fights, indomitably, fiery, relentless.

Then her hips buck against his own as she buries her head on the injunction of his shoulder and neck, and all Jaime can do is blink, trying to think of words through the thick haze of lust blurring his mind and overwhelming all his senses.

“My—milady,” he hears himself croak, as his resolve is all but ravaged once he feels Brienne’s lips enfolding hotly his earlobe.

“What?” She asks short of breath, fragile skin between her teeth, not quite biting, but holding Jaime still as he dares not move feeling a sudden weakness on his knees.

“Perhaps we should—” Jaime can’t remember ever having such a hard time putting words together – his sudden parched lips helping not the matter. His hand cups her small breast, fingers heedlessly caressing it almost as an afterthought. But something about his tone immediately stops Brienne on her tracks.

“Do you wish to stop?” She asks and he feels her whole body tense, the arms that just a second ago held him close, now effortlessly pushing him away.

Jaime can’t tell just what Brienne sees as she looks at him, not now, but he finds her eyes stunning and searching and how can it be that she doubts how much he wants her? Still?

“By the Gods, no!” He takes her hand, as big and callused as the one he has left and guides it until it rests, palm open and warm, over his chest. Then he’s kissing her again, fiercely and determined to shatter any trace of uncertainty she might still hold on to.

Perhaps, if she won’t believe his lips, there’s a chance she won’t be able to deny the hammering beats of his heart.

She stands still for a moment, and he knows this stance all too well, knows what she looks like when she’s putting up her defenses and the mere thought of it, that this may be taken away from him before he gets to have her, even if just this once, is enough to drive him mad.

With more force then he intended, Jaime presses her against the wall once more, caring not for how there’s nowhere left to go, unless his intention is to blend their bodies in one.

In fact, that’s precisely what he has in mind.

She looks taken aback by such display, and knowing he now has her attention – Jaime makes sure to say loud and clear and without as much as blinking.

“There’s nowhere else I’d like to be,” he kisses her mouth agape, slow and deliberate, neither of them looking away, “nothing else I’d like to do,” he kisses the curve of her jaw, his hand finding the laces of her breaches loose enough that he manages to undo them just enough and is rewarded as he can feel rather than see, Brienne’s sharp intake of breath as his hand brushes her naked skin.

“And,” he says, still holding her gaze, solemn and unyielding staring at her with a look that is positively predatory, “no one else I’d like to be with--” His hand travels south, unseemly fondling through course hair until his fingers find what they’ve been searching for. “but you.”

Brienne’s eyes flutter as his thumb ever so gently caresses her cunt, finding her soaking and scalding hot. Jaime can barely suppress a grunt at that, his voice charged with want when he says her name.

“Brienne,” he starts stroking her, and she bites her lower lip, eyes still closed, a hitch in her breath every time he touches her so. “Open your eyes.”

Those eyes, Jaime thinks, he’ll never grow tired of them. And if he had thought them remarkable before, now brimming with unveiled desire, they are almost unbearably stunning.

Enough that he knows not what to say next.

“Jaime,” his name on her lips sounds like sin. His hand works still, matching now the pace of his drumming heartbeats, her hands grasping his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

“Don’t stop.” He hears her say, her hips moving of their own accord, and then one of his fingers sink in impossibly warm soft flesh and her eyes grow large, and when he finds a sensitive spot, Brienne buckles, eyelids fluttering once again as a long moan born deep within her finds its way out, surprising her more than him.

Jaime removes his finger gently then, and his hand off her breeches, finding the desperate need to adjust his pants around the uncomfortable evidence of his arousal.

Brienne’s hand seizes him, grabbing his wrist. She can likely feel his pulse with the pads of her fingers and the way they softly stroke the patch of skin there.

“Will it feel this good if I touch you as well?” She wonders out loud, voice feather soft and light.

“Yes.” He assents, the words escaping him with barely conceived urgency.

And he needs to say no more. Immediately Brienne takes charge of unlacing his pants, her movements sure, but longstanding. Jaime has a hard time forcing himself to look away from her hands, something about the act however simple, decidedly tantalizing, and when he looks up, hoping to convey his haste without as many words, is to find her watching him with those sapphire-blue eyes filled with curiosity and something else he can’t quite read.

Her hand brushes his cock while at it and he hisses at the briefest touch, eyes shutting at the promise of hard earned release and when he opens them again, he finds Brienne looking at his cock, her lower lip caught between teeth as she seems to study him.

Jaime tries to think of a clever thing to say next, compelling her out of such musing state. Then he feels her large hand enveloping his cock with a steady grip, gentle but firm, much as she would wield a sword and Jaime feels a twinge of intense pleasure jolting all through his body, taking away most of his coherency.

“Gods,” he chokes; Brienne freezes.

“Sorry,” she says still unmoving, “is that ok?”

Jaime licks his dry lips, eyes closed, trying with all his might not waste away too soon.

“Yes.” He grunts, a helpless sigh escaping as she adjusts her grip. She notices it and does it again, this time with intent. Jaime opens his eyes and finds her blue ones looking back with peaked interest.

“Does this feel good?” She strokes him slowly and firmly and he clenches his jaw. There’s a shadow of a smile shimmering in her eyes and he finds it almost as provocative as her touch. 

“Yes,” he says loudly, his voice sounding dangerously grave. Still holding him in her hand, Brienne steps forward, forcing Jaime to take a step back. No longer leaning against the wall, she stands taller than him, and then, with a swift hand, the one that’s not otherwise engaged with his cock, she gracefully unfastens her breeches all the way, letting them fall to her feet in a puddle.

Jaime has seen her like this once before in what now seems like a lifetime ago.

But he doesn’t have a chance to delve into such thoughts given that not a moment later, Brienne takes another step placing herself in such proximity that there’s no place for his hardened cock other than touching her smooth impossibly long thighs.

And they are doing just that, just touching really, but Jaime can already anticipate how wet she is, even more now, and that warmth that not long ago almost drove him to the very edge.

It takes all he has for him not to mindlessly thrust his cock into her cunt, especially with her standing so close and inviting.

He makes the mistake of looking up and finds that her smile is no longer a shadow, no longer there at all.

Brienne shifts, ever so slightly, her cunt slithering over his hard cock and by the rosy color tinging her cheeks and neck, he knows she’s enjoying this maybe just as much as he is. Then she says, her voice hoarse. “How about now?”

Using his stumped arm to hold her by the waist, Jaime hoists himself, their bodies touching in full, nothing but skin on skin and when he speaks, his breath is hot on her neck. “I think we better find your bed or I won’t be able to answer for myself if you do as much as sigh my name.”

She opens her mouth and he captures it with as much hunger as their first time, tongue and teeth and the feel of her sex taunting him to the brink of madness.

Brienne breaks away and he’s left in the cold air, mouth agape, short of breath, a protest on the verge of leaving his lips when she extends her hand, catching his with a firm grip and guiding the two of them toward the bed covered in furs and promises of a long night.

.::.

TBC...


	4. At last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over and life is like a song...

4\. 

“This will likely hurt,” Jaime warns, lying on top of her.

“It’s ok,” She promises, never taking his eyes off him, with such trust Jaime feels like he might be staring at the sun. Then, using his maimed arm for support, his golden hand long discarded by her nimble finger and gentle touch, he touches her face, cupping her jaw for one last kiss before his hand moves down once again to bury itself amidst her folds and guide his cock into it.

Brienne draws a sharp intake of breath as he pushes through and he kisses her neck, the corner under the shell of her ear, slow and warm as if to distract her body and mind. But then he feels her clench around his cock, impossibly tight and he moves his hand just slightly, hovering over her sex and caressing the sensitive nub he finds there coaxing her to take more of him in.

His gentleness seems to have the desired effect as he feels her releasing the breath she’s been holding and adjusting her body under his heavy weight.

They stay still for a moment that’s both short and endless. This may be her first time, but truly, lying like this, looking into her eyes and getting to feel her wrapped around him, Jaime can’t think of ever feeling anything like it.

Not even-- 

He blinks the memories away before they fully form and Brienne touches his face, her solid hand cupping his jaw, making sure he remains anchored here and now and Jaime kisses her once more, reveling in the softness of her lips as he starts thrusting, slowly at first, allowing her body to settle around his presence.

It takes all his will to reign himself in and Jaime can already feel the sweat pouring over his brow and Brienne’s gentle touch pushing his hair aside, holding his face like she’s trying to memorize the lines of it with her very touch.

She says nothing more then, no words, however sweet or gentle, no soft pleads. But she does lean in, timidly pressing her now swollen lips on the corner of his mouth, her tongue moist and hot etching the kiss onto his soul. Then her fingers find the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, and her short blunt nails comb through, sending chills all the way through his body and, still inside her, his cock throbs and responds to her touch.

Losing his grip, Jaime’s hips move forward, sharp and biting. Her eyes stare at him wide, telling tales of a pleasant surprise. So, experimentally, he allows for it to happen again, and surely, he is rewarded with a gasp and a soft moan.

Jaime bites his lip, ever so tempted to finally let go and his struggle must be clear on his features as Brienne starts moving her hips of her own accord and this time the long moan drawn is unequivocally his. 

“Wench,” he smiles through gritted teeth, and she blinks at him almost innocently, but true to herself, unable to mask her intentions. His smile grows wider, the corner of his green eyes creaking with marks of his amusement. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”

“How could I?” She quirks a barely visible eyebrow, opening her alabaster long legs wider, allowing him to sink deeper within her body and Jaime all but collapses on top of her, with a grunt that’s both rapture and relief, knowing he is exactly where he should be.

He kisses her freckled shoulders and starts moving. Slowly at first, but gaining confidence and speed as he moves, Brienne’s legs gloriously tangled with his own, drawing him closer whenever he pulls away, her hands trailing through his chest, his torso, feeling every muscle tight with exertion, as if she’s trying to memorize every inch of him with those attentive all-consuming blue eyes he just can’t get enough of.

Jaime doesn’t pretend to understand how she manages to make him feel so hard and soft at the same time; instead, he takes one of her hands and draws it to his mouth, depositing a kiss on her rough palm.

She looks at him surprised and adoring and takes the opportunity to stroke his face once again, her thumb touching his jaw, his lips. Her gaze is longing almost as if he weren’t there, least of all buried deep into her.

He can’t stand it. The look he finds in her eyes feel undeserving, and Jaime simply can’t allow it. He takes her hand and using much of his strength and leverage, pulls her towards him.

Brienne is heavy, all muscles and long limbs, but she’s also a fighter, a knight – he reminds himself – and a flexible and gracious one too.

Soon they are facing each other, and Jaime finds himself straddled by her full weight, his hand and stump doing their best to keep a hold of her as her whole body moves slick with sweat against him. She has her arms around his neck at first, but Jaime can’t quite move in his current position, so she quickly searches and finds an answer for their prediction.

Using one arm to stand, her hand heavily pressed against the mattress, Brienne starts rolling her hips, her other arm keeping its firm grip on his shoulder, and when she leans back, just the slightest, he knows she’s given him access to her sweet spot, as her motions grow erratic and rapt. 

Her whole body is soon quaking and feeling her clench and flutter around him immediately brings Jaime to his climax as he kisses haggardly her long exposed neck and spill inside her with a long-overdue cry.

Then there’s a moment of silence that seems to last for ages in which both hold still looking at each other in awe of what just happened, their breath still catching, their hearts still drumming.

And when Brienne tries to move away, to break their bodies apart, Jaime pleads, his arm holding her still by the waist, “wait.”

She looks at him askance, a small frown already settling on her forehead, and he doesn’t wait before his hand finds the back of her neck drawing her in for a long languid kiss.

Once the kiss is over, they remain where they are, noses almost touching, his hand still buried at the nape of her neck, hers resting comfortably over his chest.

“Are you staying?” She asks in a bare whisper, looking at her own hand in a way to avoid his eyes and whatever answer she might find in them before he actually speaks.

And Jaime, for once, can’t imagine being anywhere else.

“If you’ll have me,” he says, voice cracking, and he can’t remember the last time he spent the night next to another person like this.

Just there, side by side.

Brienne seems to understand all that he doesn’t say, or maybe she doesn’t, he can’t quite tell as she never really answers him. Instead, she just offers him a stiff nod before pulling away and leaving the bed.

As she walks across the room, miles and miles of kiss-freckled skin exposed and casual as she feeds the fire once more before retiring to the bed they have agreed to share, Jaime finds himself admiring her impossibly long legs and the rather comely shape of her back.

It occurs to him then, as she rests once again by his side, eyes closed and breathing deep as sleep finally claims her, that it was not made clear if she meant just the night or something else.

Jaime may not know what the future holds for them but can’t deny his heart wishes.

He never could.

If the rest of his nights are to be like this, maybe the cold in the north won’t feel so unbearable after all. 

.::.

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Jaime decided to stay in the north by his lady knight's side for the rest of his days... Wouldn't it have been something? I just couldn't make myself go there. Not for now, at least. Thank God many fic writers have already given us the endings our dear characters truly deserved! 
> 
> All being said, this is it: my first collaboration for this wonderful so very talented fandom. I hope you all enjoyed it and I can't thank enough the ones who took the time to leave a word or two after reading it. I'm already working on my next project - my brain has been consumed by all things Braime since the ending of the show as I'm sure many of you can relate to, and I hope to hear from you again. See ya!


End file.
